


Memorial Day

by Scorpio71



Category: The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Holidays, Military, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 16:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1695554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scorpio71/pseuds/Scorpio71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TITLE: Memorial Day<br/>FANDOM: The Losers (pre-movie/comic)<br/>RATING: Teen<br/>DISCLAIMER: Diggle/Jock, DC/Vertigo, Dark Castle<br/>SUMMARY: In remembrance…to absent friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memorial Day

_Memorial Day_

Normally, they dressed down to blend in. Civilian clothes and civilian haircuts and they seemed just like regular guys instead of military. It was part of the job, actually. If they did dress military, it tended to be simple BDU’s and light armor without patches or identifiers. Deniability was the fashionable clothing choice with Delta Force teams.

Except today.

Today they were all in their dress uniforms, starched and pressed into crisp clean lines with polished buttons and all their ribbons and medals lined up with military precision. With the Losers all together, it was a lot of chest candy on show. For those that knew how to read those ribbons and medals, they told a story of just how often and in which ways the Losers had risked life and limb in defense of their country.

Or as Captain Roque would say, the Losers were often ‘heroically stupid’ for the Army’s pleasure.

That’s okay, though. Roque could complain about performing acts of idiocy in the name of God and Country all he wanted, he wore enough official ‘bling’ on his uniform to put any rap star or pop diva to shame. He was a genuine hero…he’d _earned_ the right to bitch. 

Except today.

Today, Roque was all about pride. Pride in his country, his team, and himself. He was also humble with gratitude for all those who went before him, for those that were maimed in the service of their duty, and for those who had given their lives to the cause. And God have mercy on anyone who badmouthed his personal heroes today, because Roque would chew them up and spit them out.

Especially today.

Even Cougar had gone all out with getting in uniform. He’d taken off his battered cowboy hat and placed it up on his hat stand. Then he’d taken a brush to his mop of hair and slicked it back into a tight neat little knot at the base of his skull and donned his Black Beret. Jensen and Pooch had joked that they almost didn’t recognize him without the cowboy hat, but truthfully, he looked damn good in the Beret.

Hell, they all did.

Polished and shined, decked out in all their ribbons and medals, the Losers marched out of their barracks and over to where the official photographer was set up. They each got an official photo taken in front of the flag. Then they lined up at attention for a team photo and then they were lined up again for a photo with the full Squadron. 

They mingled for a little while, catching up with the other two teams in their Squadron. Tales of ‘heroic stupidity’ were swapped complete with wild bragging and plenty of exaggeration. A few tales were whispered in tones of awe and grief, the silent pauses more telling than the stuttered words. Those tales usually ended with glasses raised with a toast of, “To absent friends…” and a brief moment of respectful silence.

Finally, it was road trip time and the Colonel had them all pile into a vehicle so that Pooch could drive them to the first of the places they needed to visit. Traffic was, of course, a total bitch. Thousands of Americans were making this same pilgrimage today and while they might normally grumble about that, on today of all days they couldn’t begrudge anyone wanting to make this trip.

Their first stop was the Vietnam Memorial. The Wall. They were here for Colonel Clay and followed him respectfully as he walked along its length with a small flowered wreath held in his arms. It was eerie and haunting in a way, to walk along and see their own reflections in the wall’s shiny surface. It was a poignant reminder that, but for the grace of God, their names could be up on a wall somewhere.

And the people there, other visitors…they were there to remember loved ones; friends and family, those that they would give anything to be able to hold in their arms just one more time. Those people would pause, look at the Loser’s uniforms and salute or whisper ‘Thank you’ and solemnly go back to their own grieving. For a unit of soldiers used to hiding their deeds and triumphs…it was like rain on parched desert soil. Acknowledgement and gratitude were rare and fleeting things in the life of a Loser.

Then Clay stopped and turned to look at the wall, the list of carved names stretching out before him. With one hand he reached out and lightly touched one. Major Jonathan Clay. His breath hitched in his throat slightly.

“My father…” he whispered softly.

Then he bent down and placed the wreath beneath his name and stood back up, his dark eyes a mystery. Roque made a soft tiny noise that the rest of them took as a signal as he himself, Pooch, Cougar, and Jensen all snapped to perfect salute facing the wall. Backs ramrod straight, eyes forward, elbows held at a precise angle, they offered respectful salute to the name and memory of Major Jonathan Clay. Clay gave them a look that was full of pride and gratitude and then saluted his father’s name as well. They stood there for a long moment and then Clay relaxed back to parade rest and they dropped the salute and stood at crisp attention.

Roque glanced over at Clay and arched an eyebrow. “We can wait for you by the van, Sir.”

Clay breathed deep to steady himself and then nodded, “That’s fine, Captain.”

Roque nodded and then looked over at Pooch, Cougar and Jensen before barking out, “Dismissed!”

The other three relaxed out of attention and Cougar reached out to run a finger along Clay’s father’s name, “Gracias Major,” before turning and walking away. Pooch nodded at the name and whispered, “Rest easy Major,” and walked after him. Jensen reached out to touch the wall and smiled, “You should be proud, Major…your boy’s the best damn Colonel I ever severed under.” Then he too, turned and walked off.

Clay huffed out a breath softy, part laughter and part grief. Roque reached out and grasped Clay on the shoulder, giving it a quick squeeze. He nodded at the wall and then slid his hand away and turned to walk off. As he was leaving he heard Clay’s voice say, “Dad…let me tell you about my team.” Roque just smiled slightly and kept going.


End file.
